


How to Make Boys Next Door Out of Assholes

by lovelyrhink (crimsonwinter)



Category: Rhett & Link, Rhett and Link
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Graduate School AU, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Link's POV, M/M, Marijuana, Neighbors, Questioning Sexuality, Toxic Masculinity, college!rhink, rhink, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:09:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonwinter/pseuds/lovelyrhink
Summary: Link moves to California to continue his film studies through a graduate program, where he takes residence in a sunny student suburb and meets his next door neighbor: a hot-headed musician who soon becomes his fiercest rival.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rhett and Link love each other too much to be enemies, but that's why this is fiction.
> 
> This story is inspired by the student neighborhoods of Davis, California, so for the sake of my pride, let's all pretend the university has a graduate film program, okay? 
> 
> If you like this story, please subscribe or bookmark it for updates!

In spring semester of last year, Link Neal received his BA in Film Production from North Carolina State University.

Link had grown up in a household of movie buffs. He was raised on black-and-white films, the studs and starlets of Hollywood’s golden age, and most dinner conversations revolved around said movies and their actors. There was no shortage of VHS in the Neal house, family movie nights were plentiful, and Link knew of Charles Heston, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Marlon Brando, Natalie Wood, Vincent Price, and Marilyn before he paid any mind to Robert De Niro or Squinty-eyes Eastwood. Elizabeth Taylor and Grace Kelly, too, of course.

Link was raised on Billy Wilder and Hitchcock, spent every Christmas lassoing the moon with Mr. Stewart and every summer chasing Tony Curtis onto a yacht that wasn’t his. Halloween traditions include Boris Karloff’s _Bride of Frankenstein_ or Gene Wilder’s _Young Frankenstein_ , and every Easter his dad sits through all three hours of _Ben Hur._ The time in-between is filled with re-watches of _Back to the Future, Terminator,_ or George Pal’s _The Time Machine._

Link’s boyhood included bike-riding through the neighborhood and apple-picking like any other Southern kid, but he was more inspired by Audrey’s performances in _Tiffany’s_ and _Wait Until Dark_ when others his age lusted for Charlie’s Angels. Hitchcock’s spooky realism bewitched him with _Psycho, Strangers on a Train, Dial M for Murder, Rear Window,_ and _The Birds,_ and the first time he watched _Vertigo_ , he was mesmerized by Kim Novak’s haunting beauty. Link would be lying if he said he hadn't watched Brando and James Dean movies again and again because their gentle-yet-rugged handsomeness had him enchanted body and mind, and he likes thrillers and cowboy flicks, their leading men stoic and gorgeous in the face.

Link can offer opinions on Hollywood trends, most of which would be a regurgitated version of his father’s. Link’s father has bookshelves lined with novels about cinematography and the drama between stars, and box sets of Roger’s and Hammerstein and James Cagney movies from Christmas. Meanwhile, Link's mother will forever be vouching for the importance of Greta Garbo and Bette Davis and their place in female cinema history. Favorites of Link’s father include _Witness for the Prosecution, Double Indemnity,_ and _Rebel Without a Cause,_ but his mother's a fan of _The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, Before Sunrise, Somewhere in Time,_ and everything starring Gregory Peck _._

Link prefers Adam West’s _Batman_ , Lynda Carter’s _Wonder Woman,_ and retains a special place in his heart for Christopher Reeve’s _Superman_. He likes the original _Star Trek_ series and spends many a night laughing at _Mystery Science Theatre 3000._ Link loves space flicks and all things sci-fi, including _The Fifth Element_ and _The Matrix_ in young adulthood. And of course, this wouldn’t be a story about Link Neal without mentioning _Star Wars_ and _Blade Runner_ , which sparked a lifelong obsession with Harrison Ford. Link’s own movie box sets include various Lucasfilms as well as Spielberg’s _Indiana Jones_ trilogy. Don’t ask him about _Temple of Doom;_ he pretends it was better than it was.

Yes, Link spent most of his life sitting before the television, watching the rolling credits before he could read properly just to see the letters of the ‘special effects’ heading. Link's familiar with most iconic developments in cinema, including the switch from grayscale to color in _The Wizard of Oz_ and the mechanical T-Rex used in _Jurassic Park_. Link knows more about Hollywood tragedies than he does basic math, and it wouldn’t be unwelcome if you were to ask him his thoughts on Walt Disney conspiracy theories. While other boys spent their nights catching frogs, Link sat cross-legged on his living room carpet, listening to his parents talk about Judy Garland’s body issues over her _American Masterpiece_ special on PBS.

Now, it’s all well and good for me to list movie titles and starring actors, but Link’s infatuation for film went beyond what his parents showed him. Sure, what you could call the ‘culture’ of his Southern family is predominantly interested in white Hollywood, but Link explored other avenues of film on his own. When he was old enough to rent movies, he’d sneak a few smutty French films or queer programs that dared to break the Hollywood code, and he’d be titillated knowing the filmmakers were doing as they pleased. Whatever he watched, he’d study every element onscreen that fascinated him. Aesthetic, lighting, costume design, framing, dialogue, sound, special effects, character and world-building, and plot development.

In public, Link says he likes movies. In private, Link watches his favorites on repeat because he likes knowing how a story ends, likes seeing the same frames in a timeless loop. Likes seeing the same grains of film, the same grooves, the same movements and facial expressions, immortalized in history long after the actors have passed. Iconic lines in _Sunset Boulevard_ always hit the same way, and Charles Laughton’s jowls never once jiggle out of place. Link can wear a tape out from studying a character’s movement, the changing shadows cast on a woman’s face as she wanders the streets of Paris, or the sweeping shots signifying the passing of time. As technology developed, so did the use of digital edits and special effects, and Link consumes everything he can get his hands on.

Filmmaking is art, and Link is inspired. Link was born a filmmaker at heart, and he wants to learn everything he can about cinema culture. From casting to directing to filming to producing to the actual editing and creation of the thing - Link wants to do it all. So, when he said he wanted to go to film school, his parents supported him. Naturally.

In college, Link’s cultural knowledge of American cinema expanded across the globe. He was introduced to Bollywood and Nigerian films, understood the cultural differences in filming drama and comedy, and formed a new respect for the writers of a script. College courses yielded a diverse cast of actors and characters alike, and Link’s white American background widened to include stories of African-origin witchcraft, Japanese myths, and Mexican telenovelas. Link was taught why so many villains were queer-coded; that cigarettes and alcohol were more acceptable than sex, pregnancy, and female liberation; why there’s a lack of roles for women of color; and the racist stereotypes Asian, Black, and Latina actresses had to convey. Link learned about American war propaganda and offensive caricatures that had gone over his head in movies he loved.

Film studies classes included traditional film, sure, but also introduced Link to the painstaking process of animation, both hand-drawn and stop-motion. Link deeply appreciates all forms of film media, including television, local programs, and amateur films. He learned of the Sundance film festival and dreams of creating something as unique as what indy creators submit there, wanting to be writer, director, and filmmaker all at once.

Link is a creative; he's a boy with a story to tell, even though he doesn't know what that story is yet. Link has aspirations tinged in Hollywood-gold, and college only encouraged him further.

Link learned lighting and sound design, camera work and filming, scriptwriting, and technical techniques. He tucked terms like noir and chiaroscuro in his back pocket and feels smug using them in conversation. As a freshman, he learned cinema history and media representations. Sophomore and junior year encouraged him to work closely with films, dissecting their pieces and applying what he’d learned to themed presentations. By senior year, Link had developed a portfolio of short films of his own, including parodies of public service announcements, campus documentaries, and some fragmented bits of fiction.

Never once was Link overwhelmed with his course load because he loved the content too much. He wanted to plunge his hands into cinema and never let go, even if the tangles of inky film suffocated him. Throughout his college career, Link came to understand why so many white men have been successful in film and feels encouraged by this fact, albeit troubled by the lack of female directors and producers.

Link walked into NC State thinking he knew more than enough about cinema and walked out certain he knew next to nothing. Despite both studying and creating films, Link received his Bachelor’s of Art feeling like he had more to give. If he's going to be one of many white-guy filmmakers, he has to make it worth it.

Alright, so Link graduated in spring semester last year. Above is a little history of his interest in cinema and student life, but what about his personal life? What kind of man does the boy in our story grow to become? Does his love of movies deepen the red in his rose-colored glasses, or does he remain cynical of a whirlwind, fantasy romance? Well, dear reader, the Narrator can tell you. I happen to know a thing or two about Charles Lincoln Neal III.

* * *

Link was raised as a single child by loving parents. They ate dinner together every night at 7 o’clock and went to church on Sundays. Link dressed in white button-ups and black slacks for his school photos, received a blue bicycle for his 8th birthday, and made friends with the boys at his school. He had close friends, but no best friend, and this left him feeling like he was missing something.

All the same, he was happy. He was privileged. He was encouraged to study what interests him and be a good student. He was raised to be the most respectable version of himself, and when he was old enough to kiss girls, he did. He dated girls systematically like the other boys did, making their small town and even smaller public school something akin to a hamster cage, kids crawling all over each other, one teenage romance after another. His dad likes him, but he's a mama’s boy, and when he does well, he's praised. When he does poorly, though he rarely does poorly, he's forgiven. Link never sneaked out to do drugs or drink alcohol, and he rarely brought girls home unless to meet his parents and go straight off to a school dance. He always took them home before midnight and rarely touched them unless they asked him to. He was - and is - a perfect gentlemen.

So, Link has it pretty good. The guy's 99% happy and wakes up every day feeling okay being who he is. As he aged, however, there grew a shred of something cold, a sliver of something unnamed, a shiver of _this isn’t you._ Something inside Link is deeply unhappy, a small something turned big with the passing of puberty. Something that feels wrong. Something that feels like a secret he’s always known, but a secret he's keeping from himself.

Link considers himself a nice guy, but maybe too nice of a guy when it comes to locker-room talk. Link's smart, but maybe too smart when it comes to movies beyond his years. Link's friendly, but not so friendly that he maintained a childhood best friend, and often, he’d rather spend his time at home with his movies than out at parties with girls. This didn’t bother his parents, not one bit, but when Link went off to college, it seemed to bother other people. He wasn’t bullied, necessarily, for being quiet and nerdy, but he was less-than girl crazy, and other boys started to notice. He’d get jabs about a nonexistent girlfriend, so by sophomore year, he found a real one. In high school, Link didn’t consider himself a serial monogamist by any means, nor was really a ‘relationship’ person. But when he met Kristen, everything changed.

Kristen was the perfect girl-next-door. She was blonde and blue-eyed, thin but shapely in the rump, and had a quick red mouth that liked to kiss Link a lot. She lived in North Carolina just a few towns over from Link, and when they met at school, instantly, she acted like she and Link were meant to be together. She was the perfect girl, the perfect girlfriend to bring home, and Link held onto her for the rest of his college career. Kristen was well-loved by Link’s parents, so she took his virginity when they were both nineteen. She was bubbly, pretty, and really good at math, and just freaky enough in the bedroom to take control where Link couldn’t. Her sex drive may have been higher than Link’s, but Link didn’t mind. She did what she wanted and it felt good, and when Link wanted to do something, he did it with Kristen. Kristen liked her black-haired, blue-eyed cinephile boyfriend, in fact, she loved him, and she was sure they’d be married after college.

Kristen wanted to get married right after college and settle in her hometown. She wanted to put her Nursing degree to use, help the sick and elderly, and buy a house in a good neighborhood with a yard big enough for dogs. Kristen wanted a June wedding and kids, at least three. Kristen wanted to play in the snow with her children on Christmas day and wake up in the arms of the man she loved. Kristen thought that man would be Link. Kristen couldn’t understand why Link wasn’t sure, why Link couldn’t picture the same. Kristen didn’t want to marry a man who couldn’t picture the same.

Everything was fine until Kristen’s hypotheticals became hopeful realities. Link thought he wanted to be the man for her, the man his parents, church, and girlfriend wanted him to be, but the older he got, the more he wanted to be that man _in theory._ In practice, Link didn’t know what he wanted, save his name at the bottom of a movie poster. Kristen had it all planned out: the white picket fence, the kids, the shiny golden coat of the family dog, but Link had never planned their future in such detail. He loved her and was attracted to her in moments she needed him to be, but something about their love, at least in Link’s heart, felt like a performance. He loved her like a man loved the idea of a woman - a pretty friend that occasionally got his dick wet and wanted to marry him someday. But Link… Link didn’t want to marry Kristen.

On the night before Christmas break of their senior year, Kristen broke up with Link. It was the worst night of Link’s life, filled with tears on both ends and angry words shouted in Link’s direction. Kristen couldn’t believe that Link would string her along for years without intentions of marrying her, but Link tried to plead that he just didn’t know what he wanted, and that he wanted to have a chance not to know. It wasn’t about attraction, Link told her, but that he couldn’t imagine himself being a husband right now. He still felt like a kid, he said, and he needed to be a kid for a little bit longer. He wanted to make mistakes, meet people, and make mistakes again. It wasn’t a terrible thing to want, wanting a life without a plan, but to Kristen, it was the worst thing Link could have done to her.

They spent hours talking it out in Kristen’s apartment, her roommates listening through the walls. She wanted to live with him, but they couldn’t move in together ’til marriage, which sparked the whole debate in the first place. It was a discussion a long time coming, a discussion Link should have had earlier. Every comment she’d made over the last three years, every time she hoped, dreamed, assumed they’d be together forever, Link said nothing; he just let her believe it. She was heartbroken, and when Link tried to tell her she deserved a man to marry, deserved the chance to find that man, it broke her heart again.

“I wanted that man to be _you,_ Link!” she cried.

“I know,” answered Link. “But I don’t think I can do that right now.”

After the split, Link didn’t tell his family about their separation until the end of the year. He maintained the ruse over Christmas, claiming that they weren’t seeing much of Kristen this time because she was busy volunteering at the children’s hospital. He made excuses whenever his parents mentioned her, which they did frequently. Link didn’t tell them they’d broken up because a) he wanted to get through senior year in one piece, despite the fact that his personal life was falling apart; b) he wanted to know what it was like to live without being honest, without being perfect; and c) he knew exactly what his mother would say.

“But Kristy’s such a _nice_ girl!” she’d say, and Link couldn’t bear to hear it. Not until he was ready. Not until he’d hated himself enough for breaking her heart by himself, not until he was strong enough to disclose the heartbreak all over again.

Kristen didn’t talk to him, save the painful moments when she returned his stuff. His copies of _Friday the 13th_ and _The Shining_ they watched on Halloween, his Michael Jackson t-shirts, and any boxers he’d left at her place. She returned the film-roll necklace he bought for her birthday, but kept the promise ring, which Link doesn’t understand, as it hadn’t really been a promise at all.

When Kristen greeted Link’s parents at graduation with a smile but didn’t take photos with him, the Neals asked what was wrong, and Link was forced to tell them. It went about as poorly as you’d expect, but his mother came around and was soon cradling her baby to her chest, petting his inky-black hair as he whispered _I’m sorry,_ saying it more for her than anyone else.

Link graduated a single man and decided to take a gap year at home before continuing his education. He has the drive and the smarts to continue on to graduate school, but he needed a little breather in-between. Link stayed home and spent his 22nd year not getting married, not moving in with Kristen, and not being totally and wholly unfit for her. Instead, he was miserable, but miserable on his own. Link learned a lot about himself that year, but not enough to smother that inkling of _something’s-wrong-with-you-and-you’re-not-letting-yourself-admit-it._

Link learned that he's not as nice of a guy as he used to be. He's selfish; he's single-minded. He cares more about making a name for himself than offering his name to someone else, and sometimes, he feels like his knowledge isn’t properly earned. Sometimes he feels like an imposter, but not as much as he did when everyone assumed he’d be Kristen’s husband. That year, he was free to be happy, and free to be unhappy. Link took the year for himself, whatever jumbled mess of self he had left, and tried to give himself space to live.

That year was the turn of the millennium, and a good time for personal change. That year, Link threw himself into work in preparation for his next bout of studies, and the next chapter of his life.

During his gap year, the post-graduate bought a portable camera and worked with it in his hands, hiding behind the thing as if it helped him forget that he’d hurt someone he loved. Link spent that year at home filming birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, and, ironically, weddings. He slinked around these events with a camera in his face, zooming past floral centerpieces in favor of capturing the 13-year-old overlooking his spread of presents or the beautiful bride smiling at her groom. At weddings, he liked watching people fall in love, filming the people celebrating that love. It was like watching a movie in real-time, and he was the magic that immortalized it.

He liked the white lace of a bride’s gown and the sleek fit of the groom’s suit, but the more weddings he filmed, the more he couldn’t imagine himself standing in the groom’s place. Not yet, anyway. He could have, physically; he could have. But mentally? Link wouldn’t have liked it. A monogamous college relationship was one thing, but a devotion like this was something else.

It hurt him, filming happy couples, and healed him at the same time. The more grooms’ faces he zoomed in on the moment they saw their women, the more okay he felt about not being one of them. He might be, someday. But in considering it, something in him ached to stand opposite a different face - a face he hadn’t met yet.

Link filmed local commercials, too. He made a bit of a name for himself as the funny guy with the funny commercials, putting a twist of humor in the dialogue he offered a car salesman or a taxidermist. It made him feel more like himself, being creative, funny, and a little weird. And when he went to bed at night, Link felt relatively okay about being that weird, single, filmmaker guy, no matter what his neighbors said.

It takes Link’s father a little more time to forgive Link for not marrying Kristen than it did his mother, but eventually, Link gets back in his good graces by promising grad school. He says he wants to enroll in an intensive 2-year film program that will educate him further on filmmaking, directing, editing, cinematography, sound design, and digital editing. His skills in Film Production include analyzing and writing scripts, but he wants more information on producing. He's determined to do more, _be_ more. He _needs_ to follow his dreams. He needs the program to better himself creatively, he says. I won’t waste this new opportunity, he says. Please, I want to keep studying, he says.

At the end of Link’s gap year, he’d filmed almost thirty weddings and birthday parties combined. He’d made ten local commercials and saved a little bit of money for himself. His parents will support him in going to grad school, but they encourage him to get a job if he can. Wrung-out on wallowing in someone else’s heartbreak and tired of being whispered about, Link takes his chance and goes to study somewhere new.

Where he goes to continue his studies is how our story begins. And where is that, you ask?

Link moves to California to keep studying film at UC Davis. He didn’t want to go to Los Angeles despite the good things he’s heard about LA’s film programs and is drawn instead to the suburban area of Davis, avoiding the busy city crawling with phonies. He can’t stand LA phonies.

Moving to LA is an option, perhaps after grad school, but Link wanted to choose where to study, and he chooses Davis.

On June 1st, 2001, the day he turns 23, Link sets off for Davis in his little blue car, camera and blank film carefully preserved in the trunk.

* * *

Link spends the summer of 2001 moving into a suburban neighborhood just outside campus.

Just as he’s spent the past year of his life, the road trip from the South to the coast has Link alone with his thoughts, not much more for company than the radio and a handful of snacks on the seat beside him. It takes a few nights, but Link’s too cheap for motels, so he sleeps in his car when he can’t drive anymore. When he crosses the California state line, Link can sense a calmness in the air, a warm, welcoming hum that tells him he’s far from home but just as safe.

Unlike the hills of San Francisco, the city of Davis lies in the Sacramento valley, and Link is drawn to the flatness of the roads. He likes the quiet valley the moment he arrives and stops at a nearby park to stretch his legs before continuing on. As soon as Link breathes his first real breath of coastal air, Link decides he’ll like this place very much. He likes the trees, the birds, the California sunlight catching in coffee shop windows and bicycle tires. He likes the hollow breeze and the stillness of the afternoon, arriving squat in the middle of the day. He shakes the numbness out of his legs with a walk around a flat park, then sets off to find his new house.

He drives slowly through the West Village, peering at the numbers on each picture-perfect unit. The neighboring streets are lined with student housing, and Link’s neighborhood includes two-story houses, each with their own porch. The street is eerily without movement when Link arrives, not a single college student milling about the place. Link assumes they’re all elsewhere and finds the house he’s renting, a generous two-story marked 2106 with a porch of its own. His mother would approve of the house: the white paint and beige paneling, and what she would call the veranda. He parks his car in the space designated for him (which he wouldn’t have been granted in LA, by the way), and walks through the neighborhood he’s soon to be living in. Link’s restless from the drive and doesn’t feel like moving in right away, so the first thing he does is go for a long, long walk.

Link moves noiselessly through the neighborhoods as the late afternoon sun turns golden, then red. He moseys through campus, finds a few people lounging on the campus field, but when he crosses back towards the main square, he finds everyone else. Here, students are plentiful, taking up seats outside cafes and enjoying their time in the reddening sun with good drinks and good company. Their laughter, Link notices, is less sharp than the laughter of California kids in movies, and their faces are rounder, softer in the mouth as they sip their drinks. The girls are pretty and the boys look nice, and Link watches them as he would a movie. The beautiful kids of Davis don’t seem to mind being stared at by this wide-eyed Southern boy, and Link walks the full length of the street, then the other side.

There’s more cafes here than in North Carolina; boutiques, too; restaurants, bars, and of course the college store. Link stops for a navy UC Davis sweatshirt and a cold-brew coffee, then crosses the street and passes a popular Vietnamese restaurant, its college student customers slurping pho noodles. There’s a bike shop which Link makes note of, promising to buy himself a bicycle to use in place of his car, like most students do. Davis is home to the Bicycle Hall of Fame, and the flat streets are perfect for biking around town.

When the sky gets darker and Link gets hungry, he orders some pho to go and returns to his new house.

* * *

Two of his new roommates are already there when he lets himself into 2106, Jade St. One is on the couch with a console controller in his hands, and the other is at the dining table, typing out something on sticker-covered laptop.

“Hey!” the one on the couch calls. “Which one are you?”

“I’m Link. I just got here.” He puts the food on the kitchen counter and searches the cabinets for bowls, unwilling to fetch his own dishware from his car.

“Cool,” says couchy. “I’m Marcus, that’s Dave. Guess we’re just waiting on one other guy, then.”

Dave looks up from his screen and gestures hello with cheeto-dusted fingertips, the hand immediately disappearing into the bag as the other keeps typing.

“Where are you from?” asks Marcus, putting his game on pause. He’s a normal-looking guy with thick brown hair smothered by a beanie, and Dave’s even more normal-looking, with an ashy crew-cut and sweatpants. Marcus has nice brown eyes, Link notices, and a bit of stubble on his jaw.

“North Carolina.” Link’s twang reveals itself, and suddenly he feels shy.

His roommate alights at the sound of it, then gestures to the takeaway container of pho. “There’s spoons in the drawer on the left,” he says, “I’m glad you’re from out of state. Me and Dave are both from around here, and I like meeting new people.” He turns back to his game, unpauses it, and shoots a baddie. “I won’t hammer you with too many questions, considering you must have had a long trip. Enjoy your soup and settle in. I’ll be happy to help you move some of your stuff later, too, if you want.”

Link slops some lukewarm pho into his bowl. “Thanks, that’s really nice of you.”

Marcus waves a hand like it’s no problem, eyes on the screen. Dave says nothing more than, “Nice to meet you.”

The house is pretty sparse on the inside, and Link remembers messaging these guys online about what to bring. The unit comes with a basic kitchen, and the layout of the house includes two downstairs bedrooms, two upstairs bedrooms, a bathroom on each floor, the downstairs kitchen, and laundry room tucked in back. Link discovers his upstairs room faces the house next door, his bedroom window directly adjacent to the upstairs bedroom of the other house. Its blinds are closed, lacking residents, and Link wonders who he might catch a glimpse of through that window once they move in. Link and Dave take up residence upstairs, and Marcus takes the bigger downstairs room, leaving the other for the new guy.

Later that night, Marcus proves his kindness by helping Link move some of his stuff. Link didn’t bring a TV or anything unnecessary, but he does have a heavy Southern-style dresser for his clothes that Marcus helps him move up the stairs. Besides that, Link didn’t bring much more than a few framed movie posters for the living room and his bedroom. Upon unwrapping them, Marcus asks him if he likes movies, and Link goes off on a dreamy spiel about becoming a filmmaker. Marcus helps with the items for the common space like Link’s house plants and reading lamp, but Link moves most of his bedroom stuff by himself, fitting sheets and blankets to his bed and falling asleep early.

In the morning, Dave is right back where he was the night before, cheetos replaced by sugary cereal.

“Sorry,” he says when Link begins moving his dishes into the cabinets. “I’m not usually so laptop-bound. I’m in a chatroom for comic books and it’s these other dudes who have no life, not me. I swear I ride a bike and chase girls like everyone else.”

Link shrugs, bypassing the strange twinge in his brain at the chasing-girls comment. “Whatever, man. We’ve got more than enough time to prove we ain't just one thing.”

Dave smiles, and it’s a handsome smile. “I like you,” he declares, and the statement makes Link like him, too.

The next few days are spent settling into the house, and on the third night, Link accidentally lets slip that his 23rd birthday was a week ago and he didn’t get to celebrate due to moving alone. Marcus is aghast and remedies the tragedy immediately, bringing out more than enough alcohol for the three of them.

The night passes in sips of beer and shots of whiskey, and even though Link didn’t drink much at home, he doesn’t mind being a 20-something college student getting drunk with his roommates. The three tell each other their ages, backstories, and programs of study, and Link learns that Marcus is a 25-year-old math major who took some time off school, and Dave’s a biochemist accepted into the program at 22. They talk about their girlfriends or lack thereof, and Link tells the story of Kristen and how he wasn’t ready to marry her. Marcus says he dodged a bullet, marrying someone he wasn’t truly in love with. Link wants to correct him, but can’t.

By a week in, Link’s feeling a lot more at home. As soon as his bedroom is set up, movie posters aplenty, Link calls his mama and tells her that he’s made it safely and settled in. She gripes at him for not calling the moment he crossed the state line, but otherwise is happy to hear from him. She asks him how he’s feeling about it, and Link confesses he’s less apprehensive than he thought he would be. Link tells her about the sunny streets of Davis, recounts a few anecdotes about his roommates, and carefully avoids any mention of alcohol. Never one to lie to his mama, Link tells her he thinks it’ll be good to live with people his own age after a year of being alone. He promises her that he’ll get out of the house more and make new friends, and before he hangs up, Mama tells him to send her a letter once in a while. Mama’s boy promises he will, and he means it.

At this point, Link’s a little more familiar with the residential area. He’s visited the main square every day since he arrived, sometimes with a roommate or two in tow, sometimes without. Marcus likes visiting the bars in town, and he and Link become friendly after a few nights of drinking together. Marcus shows him the places an out-of-towner wouldn’t know about and even goes with Link when he buys his first Davis bicycle. He shows Link the good places to eat but directs Link towards the better grocery store outside the Village. Link takes Marcus with him on a drive to get groceries, learning quickly that not every home-grown Californian is an earthy vegan, as Link had previously believed. Frankly put, Marcus is a pig, and Link’s happy about it. Oink!

About two weeks after Link arrives, Link meets his third roommate: Chip, a computer programmer and resident tech geek of the household. Chip’s the youngest of them, a mere 20 years old, but it only takes one conversation to learn he’s wicked smart and talented beyond his years. When Link mentions his own laptop won’t hold a charge, Chip tinkers with it for an afternoon and returns it with a new battery, a new fan, and an upgraded hard drive with enough space for Link’s movies. Link decides he likes Chip, Dave, and Marcus quite a lot, and that each roommate is kind, helpful, and intelligent in their own field. None of them are frat boys or loud party-goers by any means, and Link really appreciates his quiet, nerdy household.

It’s a few weeks into the summer when the house next door gets new residents. School starts in September, but most kids hang out the summer before classes start to enjoy life, find a job, and settle in. The girls who lived in the house next door, number 2104, moved out at the start of summer, and the house sits empty for almost a month before the new residents move in. Link’s invisible neighbors take their time moving in, and it’s early July before any signs of life appear on the street out front.

* * *

Link’s in the kitchen, which has now been decorated with some of Link’s cinema-themed items, sipping a cup of sweet coffee when the boys next door arrive. The film major calls to his roommates that the neighbors are moving in, and Dave appears to people-watch with Link through the window. Link offers him a mug, pours him some coffee, and together, they observe.

What’s interesting is the black van out front, airbrushed in tones of pink, blue, and purple galaxy. Dave wonders if they might be musicians, and when the first boy slides the van door open and retrieves a guitar case, Dave goes smug at being right. The second boy carries a drum set piece-by-piece into the house, and a third boy hangs back, smoking a joint. Link asks if it’s a cigarette, and Dave says no, so Link asks if he’s allowed to do that, and Dave repeats himself. The smell of marijuana drifts under their front door and Link wrinkles his nose. He’s never tried it before.

“Welcome to California,” says Dave, and Link giggles. They watch the two boys unload the van as the third hangs back smoking, and when all of the instruments are moved into the house next door, Dave wanders away. Link stays, sipping coffee and peering at the boys as they move.

The new residents of 2104 don’t seem to notice Link watching them through the kitchen window as they start bringing out furniture and boxes from the endless void of their black van. Ever the judgmental people-watcher, Link begins making assumptions about his neighbors. As musicians, he assumes they’ll be loud, which he doesn’t like. As stoners, he assumes they’ll stink up the block and draw cops with the scent, which he also doesn’t like. As strangers, Link’s willing to give them a chance, but if they throw house parties without inviting him, he’ll be pissed. Link decides right then and there that it’ll be easier on everyone if he opens his mind to these kinds of people. He likes musicians, and he’s willing to try weed if someone offers, but if any of the boys are cocky, hot-headed musicians who string girls along, Link’s sure he’ll make snap judgments regardless.

Unbeknownst to Link but well-known to yours truly, one of the boys in the house next door will soon become Link’s rival. An enemy to watch out for, a smarmy show-off inhabiting all the surface-level traits Link doesn’t like in a person.

Three of the boys disappear inside the house, but the sliding door of the van stays open. Link takes a sip of coffee gone cold and waits, wondering if there’s anyone else.

From within the van, a different boy crawls out. A tall boy, a boy with long legs and pompous hair that goes up. He looks bigger than the others, bigger than anyone Link’s seen, stretched out like something pulled him at both ends. Handsome face, his scrappy beard catches sunlight in amber strands. He bends for something in the van, and Link’s transfixed by the shape of his shoulders, the muscles in his back through his maroon t-shirt. Link’s staring like he has been, but it feels different as he watches this boy in particular. When the young man lifts a box from the van and takes a few steps towards the house, something stops him.

Box in his arms, he turns and catches Link’s eyes through the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link really doesn’t have time for a rivalry like this.

Now, Link was raised with good manners. His parents raised him to respect others, while church taught him Christian morals and how to behave under God. Link ate whatever his mama served him and always asked to be excused from dinner. He said thank you when his parents gave him money, adhered to his curfew, and did the dishes without being asked. Like a good boy, Link was pleasant to the neighborhood’s older generation and made sure the little ones felt listened to. Link’s mama raised him right, which means he values traditional Southern hospitality.

So, when the boys next door move in, Link expects them to introduce themselves. Link gives them a few days to settle as they continue to bring furniture and supplies into the house. He observes through the kitchen window as one of them parks a bicycle in the rack and two others carry a bed frame through the front door. Shortly after the van arrives, so does another car, which parks in the space in back. The house vibrates with noises of movement, furniture and humans alike.

A few days after the band moves in, Link approaches Marcus, the most approachable of his three roommates, and says if the new residents aren’t going to do it first, they should introduce themselves to the neighbors. It’s good neighborhood rapport, says Link. Marcus isn’t familiar with Southern customs, but agrees that he wants to meet the guys with the cool van. Around 11am on a Sunday morning, Link’s about to pop over to say hello when the doorbell rings.

When he opens the door, the sheer-winged butterfly inside him hopes it’s the tall guy, but it’s one of the others. The new neighbor holds out a dish of brownies and smiles. He’s good-looking with short, sandy brown hair and a broad chest, and his big teeth are crooked in a Hugh Grant-type handsomeness. Kind gray eyes, the boy introduces himself properly.

“Hey! I’m Jackson. Just moved in next door.”

At the sight of brownies, Marcus appears. “Are those… special?”

Jackson laughs. “No! I wouldn’t give away the good stuff willy-nilly.” Then he leans close, “but if you want some, just ask,” and winks.

Link likes a guy who introduces himself and a neighbor who brings baked goods even more. He’s instantly fond of Jackson for being both. Marcus takes the treats, and Link offers his name and his hand. “Thanks for comin’ over,” he says earnestly. “I’m Link.”

Jackson’s got a firm grip, and he holds Link’s eyes in confidence as they shake. “Nice to meet you, Link.” He’s about to shake the hand of Link’s roommate, but Marcus already has a mouthful of brownies and chocolate fingertips. Seems not everyone has manners like Jackson does.

Marcus mumbles through his mouthful, “Marcus. Good brownies.”

The boy on the porch laughs again, a brightness that crinkles the corners of his eyes. When he speaks, he turns it on Link. “I tried to get the other guys to introduce themselves, but they can only take so much bossing around. Moving here with me was trouble enough.” There’s something familiar about his voice underneath the Californian lilt.

“Where are you from?” Link asks as Marcus disappears with the dish.

“We moved from Los Angeles,” Jackson answers, surprising Link when he adds, “but I’m from North Carolina.”

Link alights. “No shit! Me too!”

Jackson puts his hands on his hips. “Would ya look at that! I should’ve known by your accent. What part?”

“Buies Creek. It’s a small town. You?”

“Raleigh. Me and the tall guy grew up there.”

Link’s belly flips, so he crosses his arms and leans on the door frame to feign coolness. “Oh yeah? That’s funny. I’m not the only Southern kid ‘round here anymore!”

Jackson gives a breathy laugh of disbelief, and Link figures his mama might like him. He’s exactly the kind of guy Link would’ve wanted to be friends with, and he hopes their shared home state will encourage a connection. Link continues, “We noticed your van out front, and the instruments. You’re in a band, ain’t you?”

“Yeah, I was gonna tell you. We’re still working on soundproofing the living room, but we’ll be practicing soon, so you’re probably gonna hear mediocre rock music in the afternoons. We’ll try not to play too late into the night, or during finals and quiet hours. If we’re disturbing you, don’t hesitate to say something. We have to share the block, after all.”

Wow! That self-awareness _really_ makes Link like Jackson. He’s about to ask more questions when he realizes he’s made Jackson stand on the porch a few moments too long. He invites him in, and Jackson compliments the interior design. They move to the kitchen and Jackson leans against the counter, answering Link’s questions like he’s pleased to do so.

“What’s the name of your band?”

“The Wax Paper Dogz.”

“And your bandmates?”

“Well, the tall one’s Rhett, then there’s Will and Gregg. They don’t like me telling their life stories, so I’ll let them speak for themselves when you meet them.” Jackson glances at the dishes piling up beside the kitchen sink. “Have you been here the whole summer?”

“No, I moved in a few weeks ago. In this house, there’s Marcus, Dave, and Chip.” Link tells him about moving in and meeting his roommates, and how he’s feeling about the place now that he’s here. They shoot the shit for a while, swapping stories of back home and discussing their programs of study. Link’s a filmmaker, and Jackson’s a musician. When Link mentions he used to go camping by Cape Fear River, his neighbor recounts similar memories of him and Rhett doing the same. The two boys get along famously as time flies, and by noon, Link’s belly grumbles for lunch. Jackson doesn’t give him too much information about the other boys, but invites Link and his roommates to visit anytime.

“Me and the guys are a lot more starved for company than it might seem. Seriously, come hang out with us. We need it.”

He says goodbye like a gentleman and lets himself out, and when he’s gone, Link feels a lot more fond of his next door neighbors.

* * *

Just as Jackson said, a few days later, music rumbles from the house next door. It’s muffled, not as loud as it could be, but it’s still there, and Link doesn’t mind it as much as he would have without a warning. Marcus shares some of Jackson’s brownies with the roommates, but eats most of them himself, and when Link tells him they have an open invitation to meet the band, Marcus says he’ll be happy to take it. Let’s meet the rock band next door, he says.

As the summer takes July, Link starts to excited about school. He’s in Davis for a reason, and after a year of post-graduate nothingness, he’s itching to do what he came here for. Link’s never liked feeling bored; he prefers being busy, and if he can, he wants to return to campus by August.

Unlike Link’s alma mater, UC Davis runs on the quarter system, which means fall quarter starts at the end of September. Link’s used to NC State’s semester system, but like most students devoted to their studies, he adapts to change. After talking to his roommates, Link learns that many graduate students pursue their studies however they can, even if it means taking classes out of order. Students at this age often work to support themselves, taking night classes or scheduling shifts around a sparse class schedule.

Link’s planning on doing a bit of the same. Fresh off a successful gap year, he wants to commit to his studies while working a flexible job. He’s got a nest-egg saved from doing local commercials back home, but he needs a little more “walking-around” money, as his dad would say. Besides, getting a job here would make meeting people a lot easier, and truthfully? Link’s excited to meet people.

His film program begins in fall quarter, but Link’s considering taking a summer class outside his program. The filmmaker-in-training knows to seek skills he wouldn’t be able to develop without the framework of an institution, so he plans to visit the campus digital media lab. Maybe there’s a computer graphics class he can take, or something.

On a lazy summer weekday in July, shortly after he meets Jackson, Link goes into town for school supplies. He makes a list of what he needs and stuffs some fliers for his cameraman services in his satchel. Link’s not necessarily burned out on filming commercials and home movies, but if he can find a job elsewhere, he’d prefer it.

Link rides his bike into town and pastes some fliers around the neighborhood, just in case. The advertisement reads CAMERAWORK // COMMERCIALS / EVENT RECORDINGS / HOME MOVIES // PRICING NEGOTIABLE with his cell number and e-mail at the bottom. A few telephone posts and bulletin boards get fliers, and Link makes a point to introduce himself to the local church, mentioning his experience filming Christenings and weddings. He hands out his business card and promotes his services as back-up work, and on his way back through town, he stops at the stationary store in the square.

Lined paper, pencils and pens, and a binder, as well as a new spiral-bound notebook for brainstorming. The act of collecting new school supplies puts him in the mood for school, and he feels lucky to have the privilege to keep studying. Once he’s back-to-school ready, Link visits the video store to apply for a job behind the counter.

The video store guy tells him the shop’s well-employed at the moment, and while he’s always happy to have more kids to take shifts, something about Link’s enthusiasm, he says, makes him think he’s better suited for a job on campus. Link’s personality shines, the clerk adds, and his cinema knowledge shouldn’t be limited to a mere video store. “Y’know,” he tells Link, “the campus library usually needs workers, especially during summer, when students go home. There’s a whole section for VHS rentals in media services, which made me think of it. You’ve got such ambition, I’d suggest applying there.”

“Gosh, that’s a great idea.” Link reaches across the counter to shake his hand. “Thank you so much!”

Leaving his card with the clerk, with permission to paste a flier in the store window, Link sets off for the university campus. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and Link breathes a confident breath knowing he has time to enjoy it, while his excitement for school reminds him something new is coming.

Summer session begins in early August, during which students can take classes, and Link assumes the campus won’t be as busy then as it will come fall. Right now, the campus is nearly empty, save two people catching some rays from the campus field. Seems there’s always someone on that grass, Link thinks.

As he gets closer to campus, a rush of nerdy endorphins overcomes him. It’s been a while since he’s been in school, and while graduation from undergrad felt great, Link’s a student at heart, and an ambitious one. The shapes of buildings and the space between their frames makes Link ache for a busy school life. Memories of students passing each other in the hallway, new beginnings sprouting like summer vines, has Link giddy to return. He really does love academics, and a job on campus wouldn’t be unwelcome to someone like him.

First thing Link does after wandering campus, stars in his eyes, is visit the office of the registrar. He received his program schedule in the mail, but after exploring the university catalogue, Link’s in the mood to take a digital media course. With the help of the registrar, Link registers for a summer class, computer graphics, and goes to explore the lab he’ll be using. Most classrooms are locked and dark within, but the library and its services are open to the public, so Link wanders into the lab. Computers line rectangle desks, each monitor sitting bulky and glossy. There’s a sign-in to rent video and photography equipment, and Link thinks fondly of his own cameras back at the house.

He continues through the main space of the library, where he finds the video rental area he was recommended. After touching the spines of books and tapes alike, Link speaks to the head librarian about summer work. She quickly takes a liking to his respectful, self-assured manner and hires him on the spot. She tells him he’ll be a video rental specialist, but will work in other areas of the library however he sees fit. Thoroughly pleased with this offer, Link accepts, then chats with her for a while about old movies. Turns out, she’s got a pretty wicked thirst for horror, which her pink sweater and enamel kitten pins wouldn’t have you believe. The soon-to-be graduate student leaves the library with a start date and a beaming grin on his face. Southern charm really does work wonders!

* * *

Feeling confident, Link returns home and makes himself a salad with vegetables his roommates don’t often eat. The Wax Paper Dogz are practicing when he gets back, and Link tries to pinpoint the sound. Jackson was right; they’re mediocre, but Link doesn’t expect greatness from anyone but himself. Their sound is familiar, and while Link’s not as well-versed in current rock bands as he is movies, he’s not deaf to what’s in style. He recognizes the inspiration; their music is something like a watered-down Pearl Jam.

Link munches his salad to the muffled sound of it. He likes this place more every day, and he’s realizing with each new dose of sunshine that he’s _allowed_ to exist here. He’s allowed to apply for a job in the library or move his lunch onto the front porch, and he’s encouraged to feel at home here, smile on his face. Once the music stops, Jackson appears and starts fixing his bike in the sunshine. He waves, and Link’s humbled by the gesture. In front of the house, he crouches to clean the spokes, and Link watches him.

Link hasn’t seen much of the other guys, but he’s sure he’ll meet them soon. After studying the way Jackson wipes the sweat from his brow, Link gets up to put his plate in the sink and returns to the porch with his new idea journal and pen in hand. He settles into one of the cushioned chairs on the porch, swipes a thumb over the glossy black cover, and turns open a new page.

Scenes have plagued him, unwritten, ever since he first came to Davis. Link clicks a new pen and starts writing bits of half-baked scenes, scribbling images before his funny head loses them.

There’s a girl standing before the window of a boutique, admiring a pair of bejeweled earrings. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, staring through the glass as if longing for a memory not yet found, when a noise from the street surprises her, and she whips her head. Atop a ferris wheel sits a couple, carnival lights reflecting brightly in one of the lover’s eyes, the other’s staring empty, a matte black gaze without shine or reflection. In a green field overlooking a grayscale city, a genderless person does cartwheels to a quick-paced soundtrack, but stumbles and twists their ankle in such sharp pain that they fall back, maniacal laughter as tears stream down their face. Somewhere in Paris, a lonely man sits at the edge of the Seine river, eating caramel popcorn and swinging his feet. A red bicycle and a ride through the woods, a cave, and a few young explorers with flashlights.

Link sits up and looks at the street. By now, Jackson has moved to his own porch, sitting adjacent to Link and not doing much more than sipping a beer. Golden sun warms the road in front of twin houses, and the summer afternoon is quiet. Birds chirp, and Link feels peaceful.

Loneliness is a feeling not present as Link writes in his journal, another soul peaceful and unbothered nearby. Link’s in the zone, creativity flowing as easily as the ink from the tip of his pen. He drops his head and continues, indulgent brainstorming keeping him from seeing that the band’s black van has departed, and it’s not Jackson who takes it.

Link writes.

Overhead shot of a garden in spring sun, terra-cotta pots layered in various sizes, some with greenery, some without, and one with a gray cat curled up in the dirt. Sleep-deprived college student in boxer shorts swaying his hips, hungover at the stovetop while cooking breakfast at dawn. Witches, known as moondancers, barefoot and naked atop a stone plateau in the middle of the woods, dancing ‘round a fire and holding bloodied, beating hearts over their heads. An Indian princess on her wedding night, view partially obscured by the rich red-gold tapestries of her canopy bed as she throws her head back in pleasure. Desert roses blossoming from the cracked earth. A little girl on her first day of school gently lifting her pet bullfrog from her lunchbox. Someone’s mother crying at her youngest child’s grave as the skyline goes orange, lavender, black. The laughter of youth echoing over a moonlit lake as kids drink brown liquor and dare each other to kiss over the empty bottle’s spin. Tropical fruits of all kinds making a rainbow patchwork of color: mangoes, papayas, starfruit, kiwi, coconut, grapes, oranges, bananas, and pineapple.

When Link looks up from his notebook, the black van has returned. It’s been about twenty minutes since it left, and Jackson raises his second beer to the driver as he steps down. Link observes as the tallest one, now known as Rhett, shuts the driver’s side door with a slam and stands before the house. Something flutters in Link’s belly at seeing him. It scares him, so he ignores it.

Rhett’s wearing sunglasses too big for his face and a black UCLA sweatshirt. His jeans are distressed, but the rips look manufactured, and he’s cuffed them at his skinny ankles. He’s in black and white checkerboard Vans and brings a clear plastic cup of iced coffee to his lips, sipping through a plastic straw. The straightness of his spine and the confidence of his stance reads arrogant, and when he calls to Jackson, Link immediately dislikes him.

“Hey, Jackass! Day-drinking again, I see.”

Jackson ignores him. “Did you get your shitty coffee drink?”

Rhett shows him as he approaches the porch. “They took forever! Like, how hard is it to make a frappucino with skim-milk, almond extract, three shots of espresso, and double the chocolate caramel?”

Link scoffs. Is this guy for real?

“You’re gonna get diabetes, man, I swear,” says Jackson.

Rhett takes the first step along with another sip. “Nah, I’m too fit.”

“Alright then, cavities.”

The tall one shrugs. “Whatever.” He joins Jackson on the porch and takes the bottle from his hand mid-drink, tosses back a swig of beer, and follows it with a sip of coffee in the same mouthful. The acid in Link’s stomach curdles just watching it. It’s like a car crash, and he can’t look away.

“So, I got another date tonight,” Rhett states, as if anyone asked.

“Please,” Jackson monotones sarcastically. “Tell me.”

“It’s with this girl, Carrie. She’s not as cute as Melissa, but she’s got a great rack.”

Link can’t help it! “Gimme a break,” he mutters, a touch too loudly.

Rhett turns towards the porch of 2106 and lowers his sunglasses to get a look. “Who’s this twink?”

“Rhett!”

“What? Tell me he doesn’t look like a pillow princess.”

“How do you even know…” Jackson starts. “Actually, nevermind. Don’t tell me.”

Rhett sips. “Has he been sitting there staring at us the whole time?”

Link’s belly bubbles anxiously, and he looks down at his journal.

“Jesus, Rhett. Don’t be fucking rude. He’s our neighbor. You should introduce yourself.”

Chancing a glance, Link looks up and holds Rhett’s eyes, now revealed sans sunglasses. They stare at each other, one porch to another, then Rhett shrugs. “Maybe later.”

He disappears inside, and Link laughs out his nerves.

“So, that’s Rhett.” Jackson gives him an apologetic look. “Sorry. He’s a jerk.”

“Yeah,” says Link. “Figures.”

* * *

Later that night, when Rhett’s out on his date, Dave, Marcus, and Link pop over to 2104 to meet the band. Link doesn’t want to admit to knowing Rhett would be out, having watched him go, but he’d rather him be out than in. Rhett’s words have been turning over in his head since he spat them. What about him looks like a twink?

Marcus brings the dish, now clean of brownies, as well as a pack of beer as compensation. Link offers a small movie print from his collection as a housewarming gift. It’s a 12x10inch _Pulp Fiction_ poster, as he figures most college guys like the movie and won’t mind having Uma on their walls. Dave brings himself.

They ring the doorbell after the sky has gone dark, and the man who opens the door isn’t one of the four Link’s seen before. He’s tall, but not as tall as Rhett, and brawny. Thick in the arms and chest, with black hair pulled into a short ponytail and a glorious black beard. He’s got a tattoo on one arm that peeks out from a white sleeve. Link stares, impressed.

“‘Sup, I’m Theo,” says Theo. He reaches for one of Marcus’s beer bottles. “Oh, yes! The good stuff!”

Marcus blushes, and Link’s never seen such a shy pink in his face. Theo claps him on the shoulder and gestures inside, stepping aside to let the boys in.

“Welcome!” he booms, beardy smile as welcoming as the gesture itself. “You guys must be the new neighbors. Come in, come in. Meet the band!”

Three-fourths of the Wax Paper Dogz are sitting in the living room. Clearly, the space has been designated for band practice. The music set is grand, gleaming in the low light, and the couch has been shoved to make room for it, separating the den from the kitchen. There’s a few decorations around the place, and it’s a bit unkempt as boys’ places usually are, but all three guys have friendly faces. Link’s half-expecting to see them sitting there passing a bong, given the smells he’s been noticing before, during, and after practice, but no such device is in sight. Instead, the coffee table is littered with open bags of chips, beers, and a bowl of cheesy puffs.

Marcus sets the beers down beside the others and immediately plops down on the couch. “What’re we watching?”

The boy next to him grunts in response, and Link takes it as a cue to offer his gift. “Hi, Jackson. Brought this for you.” He gives Jackson the print of Uma, who unfurls it with a pleased grin.

“Fuck yeah! My babe! Thanks, man.”

Marcus is already munching, but Link remembers his manners. “Can we join you?”

Jackson’s in the middle, bag of potato chips between him and his bandmate. He waves a hand at the armchairs crushed awkwardly close to the couch, and smiles a homely grin. “Of course! Welcome to the sty. Sorry not sorry about the space.”

Link sits in an armchair and reaches over to shake one of the other guy’s hands. “I’m Link. Thanks for havin’ us.”

“Will,” he says. “And that’s Gregg. What do you think of the instruments?”

Looking, Link admires the set. The drum set is glossy purple with the letters WPD embossed on the white face of the bass drum. Some guitars are fixed to the walls, displays, most likely, while the ones in use are on stands beside the set. There’s a folded-up keyboard tucked by the TV, and two of the guitars are painted with the same blue-purple-pink galaxy as the van. “I like the purple drums,” he answers. “It’s cool to see a sound-proofed living room.”

The walls are covered in strips of something long and puffy. There’s a bookcase overflowing with CDs and a Japanese lucky-cat atop it. The walls beyond the sound-proofed den are fairly sparse, a few posters and some records on the walls, including Jimmi Hendrix and The Doors. Marcus is already fist-deep in the cheesy puffs when Link’s roommate Dave introduces himself, Marcus following.

“We can hear you guys practicing,” Dave admits, going for a beer. “I like your sound.”

Will leans back, spreads his thighs. “Thanks. We’re working on it. It’s a different scene out here than LA, so we’re tweaking things.”

“Jackson told me you’re from the city,” says Link. “What brings you here?”

Jackson takes over. “We met there and played more than a few gigs, but I got tired of the bullshit. Me and Rhett wanted to continue our studies, so we convinced the guys to come with us somewhere we could hone our sound, keep it fresh. We’ll probably return to the city, but speaking for all of us: we just needed a break.”

Will nods. “I’m not going to school, but I got a job teaching piano to underclassmen at the university’s music conservatory. And Gregg just tags along.”

Gregg throws up a couple fingers. “Yo.”

“That’s awesome.” Will hands Link a beer and opens it for him as Link continues, “It must be nice bein’ able to stick together through that change.”

Will feigns a defeated sigh, and Jackson nudges him playfully. Jackson looks at Link, and childlike adoration sparkles in his eyes. “It really is.”

Once Theo moseys in, the boys offer a toast. Each boy makes sure he has a drink before Jackson says, “To a new year, new neighbors, and nights we probably won’t remember!” and the seven slam their bottles on the coffee table before sipping the foamy heads.

Link and Jackson make an interpersonal cheers to new beginnings, new friendships, music, and film. Dave and Marcus cheers to math and science, then drink their braincells away.

The night passes as summer nights spent by college boys are prone to do: too much drinking, too much eating, too much living. The screen clicks to MTV and stays there, but the music videos play out, unwatched and faint beneath the hum of buzzed conversation. Conversation grows ever-noisier as the boys keep drinking, and Marcus lingers in the kitchen, talking to Theo about his favorite breweries and life as a bartender.

Theo flits about the kitchen in sweatpants, cooking quesadillas and sipping beer. Ever-tipsier, Link finds himself admiring the ease of Theo’s thick arms as he cooks, the way Marcus smiles when talking to him, and the laughter of the boys around him. A few beers in, and Link’s happy. He likes domesticity like this. He likes these boys.

When Theo replaces the coffee table spread with ‘dillas, beans, corn chips, and queso, the boys have been snacking for a while. It’s past dinnertime, but the seven of them don’t mind eating more, especially as drunkenness makes cheese and grease taste that much better.

Theo joins them in drinking and eating, pleased to drink beer he didn’t provide. Quesadilla in one hand, beer in the other, Theo tells them he works most nights and shares a bedroom with Gregg. He works at the bike shop during the day and the local bar afterwards, and Link’s loose beer-soaked tongue says he makes a _fine_ bartender. Theo tells Link to visit him sometime, winks, and sends Link giggling. With every sip of beer he takes, Link decides he likes being drunk.

Halfway through their meal, Gregg disappears and returns with wooden box. He sets it on the coffee table, and Link watches, fascinated, as Gregg reveals a treasure-trove of papers and greens and rolls a joint. Gregg twists the end into a sealed point, then promptly lights it. Takes a hit, another, then passes it down the line.

Link’s beer-glazed eyes watch as each boy takes a hit or two off it, puffing the thing as it burns, orange embers. When it gets to Link, Marcus hands it to him, and he takes it.

He admits he’s never tried it before, so the guys tell him to take a tiny puff. Link tries to, but he coughs all the same at the sear in his lungs. Marcus tries to take it back from him, but Link withholds and goes for another hit. It amuses the crew, and Link hands it back before sinking, stoned, into the armchair.

He fazes out as the guys keep smoking, but something about the disjointed-ness of being high has him going back for more. That night, Link takes more puffs off Gregg’s joint than he should and falls into his high heart-first, stoney head slow to follow.

Between the handful of them, they finish the joint and continue to gab and grub in slurred movements. Link’s a little too gone to be present, so they let him disappear into the fog.

Link settles back in his chair and chuckles to himself. Now he knows why this activity is called ’doing’ drugs. It’s a bone-deep relaxation, a fuzziness that dissociates him from this moment and the next. There’s nothing to do but sit there and feel it; feel it in his eyes, feel waves, feel a kinship to the boys, the house and armchair he’s experiencing it with. Link feels safe and excited to be somewhere new with new people, and he likes it. His friends move around him in shadows, their voices going hollow as Link loses himself in his high.

Strung out and tipsy like this, left alone in the fray to feel what he feels, Link thinks about Rhett. Before today, he’s only seen him in rare glimpses, darting in and out of the house. There’s something intriguing, almost familiar, about him, but it’s squashed by how thoroughly _infuriating_ he acted earlier.

Like, we get it! He’s tall, and he’s cool, and the movements of his body read confident and alluring, but what else? Okay, his hair looks great in the California sun, so what? What does it matter that the first time Link saw him, his insides went ablaze for Rhett’s thrilling, youthful invincibility?

What gives him the right to swagger up and say such things about a neighbor before even getting to know him? Right _in front_ of him! If there’s anything his mama taught him, it’s that you don’t talk smack about somebody. Especially somebody you don’t know!

Link pouts, and his crinkly stoned face goes even crinklier. He lets himself feel something over it, but when his high hits a different wave, Link unravels into peace. Sitting here with the band and his roommates, losing himself to substances… It’s the most fun he’s had in a while. In good moments like this, he doesn’t want to remember the pain he left behind, but he can’t help it. This is what he meant when he told Kristen he wanted to stay young. It’s exactly the kind of welcome he needed into this next part of his life, and he convinces himself to stay faded as celebration for getting a new job. Link celebrates further with more beer and quesadillas than he’s ever had in his life.

The alcohol loosens their lips, the food bonds them, and the weed makes them philosophical. Gregg rolls another joint, and Marcus smokes more than he should, slumped against Gregg, who has cavernous iron lungs. Nobody’s talking about anything particularly relevant, and Link’s back in his head. He sees the cut of a beardy jaw, checkerboard shoes.

It’s Theo who starts talking about love, and this time, Link listens. He hears about pretty brunettes with false eyelashes that always got stuck to the bathroom sink and fiery redheads who were wild in bed. Stoned like this, the edges of Link’s heart soften to receive their stories without judgement, without envy. When Link gets asked about his most recent relationship, Marcus says it’s not worth talking about.

“They weren’t right for each other,” he says, and that’s the end of it.

Kind Marcus, protective Marcus. Link’s first high remains undisturbed, saved from having to tell the story of his not-marriage all over again. Distracted and feeling loved, Link goes dreamy. For the first time in a while, he’s hopeful. He’s got a clean slate before him, and he wants to trust that he’ll find new love.

When Link speaks, he says he’s excited to meet someone who _is_ right for him. A fierce love, Link says. Love with heat. Chemistry. Someone attractive, someone with passion.

Somehow, the boys start talking about Rhett. With substances in his system and the jerk out of the house, Link can’t help but ask about him. Endless, the night feels displaced from time, reality, and the vulnerable parts of Link surface, those which usually wouldn’t. Jackson helps him tell the story of the not-quite introduction from earlier that day, and Link flops back in his chair, legs thrown over the arm.

Beer in hand, Link asks, “What’s his problem, anyway?”

The bandmates groan, and Gregg gestures like he wants someone else to tackle this one. Will starts, “He’s an interesting guy.”

Jackson adds, “I love him to death, but he’s an asshole. Plain and simple.” He reaches for a chip but loses his appetite on the way to it and chooses to drink instead. “Considering how he treated you today, I’ll tell you this: Like any of us, Rhett’s got an ‘on’ persona.”

Gregg nods, lights a joint. Will gets up to use the restroom like he’s heard the speech before.

“He can be a nice guy, or he can be a jerk. It’s like he _chooses_ to be a jerk, and that’s the worst part. I’ve known him forever. I’m telling you. It’s a thing.”

The sheer-winged butterfly of his heart gives a twinge of disappointment. So, Link thinks. He’s a phony.

Stoned and feeling the weight of it, Link sighs. Rhett’s a jerk. That’s clear. Arrogant, selfish, and rude. _And he’s from LA!_

Thinking, Link falls quiet. There’s gotta be some respectable bit of North Carolina left in him, right? He doesn’t want to consider that someone from his home state could be such a… douche. He feels hasty and weird, asking about the guy, thinking about him, so he stops. Graceful legs, Link pops up from the chair and sways where he stands.

Dave and Theo have disappeared outside to smoke a cigarette, so Link gives the stoney edict to Jackson, Gregg, and Marcus. He holds out his near-empty bottle. “Here’s to partying with the nice guys,” he slurs, and the three boys cheers him before downing the dregs.

* * *

Link can’t remember what time he and his roommates return home. He can’t remember the ten steps between one house and another. He falls asleep and awakes with a sunny summer morning stretched out before him, begging him to sleep through it. When he awakes three hours later, he feels shitty, but not as shitty as he would if he wasn’t 23 years old.

The days after the first hang-out with the band next door feel… different. Link feels good about making new connections, about getting a job. It feels good trying drugs, and celebrating, and being part of this world.

In the later weeks of July, Link starts his job at the campus library. He’s put to work organizing the stacks and preparing the system for students. He checks to make sure all books, rental tapes, and newspapers are good to go, and he works noiselessly in the stacks, helping those that like to do research in advance. It’s easy work, for the moment, and the first few shifts are enjoyable. The library is a safe-haven away from home, and Link’s work quickly becomes his ‘alone’ time, where he can hide away somewhere cool, somewhere quiet. At work, Link can mentally prepare for his upcoming graphics course, while helping smart people find what they need. At the library, he can breathe history and everything stills.

It also keeps him out of the house, which keeps him from spying on Rhett.

When Link’s in the house, it’s impossible not to see the jerk. Every time Link’s feeling peaceful, he’s there, arrogant and abhorrent. Link catches glimpses from his room, the kitchen, the porch, and studies him. Rhett walks like he’s always being looked at, laughs too loudly at his own jokes, and teases his roommates more than he appreciates them. Link hasn’t been over since the quesadilla kickback and avoids talking to Jackson when Rhett’s with him because it’s not worth it. Link’s not holding a grudge, he tells himself. He’s just royally pissed off.

And the worst part? Even though they’re neighbors, Rhett refuses to introduce himself. He’s too proud to apologize for calling Link names. He avoids him when Link’s out on the porch, and it infuriates Link. Why doesn’t he just swallow his pride, re-introduce? If Rhett approached him and acknowledged his own jerkish-ness, maybe Link would like him. Maybe what Jackson said about him would prove true, and Rhett would _choose_ to be nice.

But this isn’t that kind of story.

Unfortunately, Link keeps spotting him. Between lounging at home and going to work, he sees enough of Rhett to drive him crazy. He doesn’t like seeing so much of him when the guy won’t even spare him a kind glance, but Link can’t keep him from living next door. It’s unfair, having to see him out for a run, shirtless and gleaming sweaty in the sunshine. He doesn’t need to see that! Nobody does! Nor does Link need to see Rhett on the porch with his guitar, fingering the strings and humming to himself as if he’s secretly lovely. Most of the time, Link observes, unseen. But sometimes, Rhett will catch him staring.

Link really doesn’t have time for a rivalry like this. And even if he did, he’d rather it be based on something other than mere existence on the same block. They’re neighbors, and there’s no escaping it. Fine. Link knows he shouldn’t be troubled by the daily routines of the guy next door, but he’s just _such_ a shit!

Link hasn’t even gotten a proper look at the guy, and he can still sense the condescending air of entitlement. The smugness that he can say what he wants and get away with it. If Rhett’s gonna call him names, he should at least be brave enough to say them to Link’s face. With each new happenstance, it infuriates Link that Rhett won’t even talk to him. At least give him something real to worry about!

The boy needs to be careful what he wishes for.

* * *

Link’s about a week into his job at the library when his story’s antagonist makes a proper introduction.

Armful of rental VHS tapes, Link’s moving through the stacks when someone yanks him back by his hood. The collar of his sweatshirt nearly chokes him and he stutters to a halt. When he looks, his tallest neighbor is challenging him. “Hey,” says Rhett. “You’re the kid next door that’s always staring at me.”

“Ugh, it’s you.” Link struggles to keep the tapes in his arms as the pit of his belly falls out. Rhett’s caught him by surprise in more ways than one, and Link looks up as he towers over him. Link knows by the way he moves that he’s attractive, but up close, Rhett’s handsomeness is unforgiving. Link gulps, fluttery and defiant.

The library is dark between the stacks, and quiet, and Link wasn’t expecting a visitor - let alone this one - in the middle of his workday. He moves to get away from Rhett, but the jerk follows and grabs him roughly by the arm. Link doesn’t want to damage the tapes by yanking himself, so he breathes calmly. Rhett stares at him, then releases him.

Link whispers into the hush of videotapes, “What are _you_ doing here? How did you know I worked here?”

Rhett crosses his arms. He shrugs like he can get away with anything and says, “I followed you.”

His guts twist. “Stalker.”

Smug, Rhett says nothing, and the two stare at each other as quiet overtakes the library. Someone at a nearby table coughs. Link breaks the silence by setting off again, but Rhett whips in front of him and blocks his path with his leg, propping his sneaker on the lowest-shelved tapes. Link’s nerves broil.

Oversized in the narrow space between stacks, Rhett’s tall, skinny frame blocks Link’s way by sheer atmosphere alone, and Link stays back. Unbothered, the tall boy lets Link glare at him, saying nothing. Link doesn’t even try to bypass his pointy elbow as he spits, “Please leave me alone.”

Blocked like this, Link’s forced to study Rhett’s face. His features look as if sculpted by someone brilliant, and his arched eyebrows twitch with expression. Sharp nose, gaunt cheeks, pink lips, and a handsome, piercing gaze. Green-gray eyes glazed with self-possession, and a smattering of brown freckles on the bridge of his nose. Scrappy beard. Link stares angrily into the eyes he can only describe as catacombs.

Rhett goes haughty, “What, hate me already?”

“You’re an asshole.” He tries to get around Rhett, and this time, Rhett lets him. Link paces through the stacks and towards his destination, rounding a corner and bypassing someone on the other side.

Rhett follows at the same quick pace, raising his voice. “Who told you that?”

Finding the shelf he’s looking for, Link parks in front of it and trails a fingertip along the stacks. “Your best friend.”

“Ah.” Rhett nods solemnly. “Jackson. He’s a good guy.”

Slips a tape into its slot. “And you’re not?”

Rhett shrugs. “Only when I wanna be.”

Link groans. He shouldn’t be wasting his time with this guy. Why is he lingering?

“I don’t care what people think about me,” he states, “as long as it’s about me.”

Ignoring him, Link moves farther down the stack. He’s only gotten through half of his go-backs, unwillingly distracted by this- this _narcissist!_

Rhett follows again, coming closer, and Link hates that his body reacts to proximity. Snatching the tape from Link’s hand mid-motion, Rhett moves it two feet from its place and puts it on the highest shelf, in the wrong spot, on purpose. “You asked me what I’m doing here,” he adds, words tinged in arrogance like it’s a blessing to hear his voice. “Thought it was time for you to meet me.”

Link blanks. “For me to- _Jesus Christ!”_

Rhett laughs, a laugh too big for a university library on a quiet afternoon, and a few readers look up from their tables. Link scurries away in shame, and Rhett stalks him. Another turn, and Link’s deeper in the stacks, discarding the last of his armful of tapes. It’s shadowed, and intimate, but Rhett won’t. fucking. leave.

“Speaking of Him, you’re from North Carolina, aren’t you?”

Again, Link ignores him.

“It’s fine, I know you are. Jackson told me.” Rhett leans on a stack, continues, “He also showed me the poster you brought for the living room. Says you’re a filmmaker.”

At this, Link tunes in. Realizing his friendship with Jackson is their common ground, and also his leverage, he counters, “It’s incredible how welcoming your bandmates are when you’re such a massive prick.”

“Ha!” Rhett smiles, really smiles like he’s glad Link’s fighting back. “He said you guys came over. Too bad I missed the party; I didn’t get the invite.”

Link doesn’t know if he should be responding or running. He’s tried both, and now he’s stuck. If he talks to him, will he go away?

Rhett presses. “What did they say about me?”

“That you’re a phony.”

“They said that?”

Link shoves by him. “No, I did.”

Rhett grabs him by the wrist, twisting Link’s arm in his hold and pitching his voice gruff. “Listen, Caulfield. You don’t know shit about me, but I know all about you.” Link struggles, but Rhett’s got a huge hand and a vice grip.

“Lemme guess; you’re the kid from a small town with big Hollywood dreams. You scribble in your journal like your thoughts are worth something, but you’re made of nothing more than cinema trivia and thinking you’re better than your generation because you like old movies. Nobody cares that you know the names of people long dead, and you’re not _enlightened_ because you like Hitchcock. Movies are just movies, and like everyone else, their makers become irrelevant. You think you’re the only guy like you? You aren’t special. You’re white, you’re mediocre, and you have nothing to give.”

Link wretches his arm back, his butterfly sizzling to a crisp in rage. “And what about you?” he starts. “The only words out of your mouth are criticisms. You feel entitled to this washed-out arrogance because you’re ‘in a band,’ which, by the way, doesn’t mean jack shit anymore. Wake up! It’s 2001, don’t you know how many kids form garage bands? You may have drive, but you’ll never be Freddie. Kids all over the country, far more talented than you, are making it because they have heart, they’re takin’ risks. You couldn’t even handle the crowds of LA, so what does that say about you?” Link’s fired up. “And don’t go thinking you’re any hidden gem, either. I live next door. Your music ain’t nothin’ to dream on.”

He steps back, feeling powerful and spiteful and nervous. “You say I’m one of many, but look at yourself! You’re mean, Rhett. Mean and fake. There is absolutely _nothing_ genuine about you. You’re as far from authentic as they come.” Link doesn’t know why he’s taking this so personally, but something’s shaken loose inside him that balls his fists and raises sweat under his pits. He’s caring too much, and he’s too loud for the library, and he needs to get away.

Rhett stands before him like a cat with frizzles in his fur. He goes tense, a darkness passes his eyes, and then he’s shrugging. He shrugs it away, and his porceslain hardens. He snarls, then smiles. “You must think you’re pretty hot, don’tcha? Makin’ an enemy out of me.”

Link scoffs. This conversation has gone on a hundred words too long, and none of them are worth hearing. “Why am I listening to you?”

Link turns, determined to leave with his pride, but Rhett’s not finished.

“Shame that someone from the South is so weak-willed.”

Over his shoulder, Link throws his final remarks. “Honor is knowing which fights ain’t worth pickin'. And I want nothing to do with you.”

Library shelves bend for him like shadowed willows as Link’s legs carry him far from the mess behind him. Link doesn’t look back, and Rhett doesn’t follow, but he calls after Link all the same.

“Well,” says Rhett. “That’s just too damn bad.”


End file.
